


At A Crime Scene

by TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Series: TTM Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg beat a guy up, Greg's just angry, M/M, Some bad language, got some cuts and bruises, minor mentions of violence and death, nothing to worry about unless it's REALLY not your thing, the guy totally deserved it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg gets some cuts and bruises in his pursuit of the suspect. Mycroft's there to kiss it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At A Crime Scene

Watching the paramedics flutter passed him in a whirlwind of green and white, Greg hissed and swore under his breath once more. He pressed the cloth full of ice over his bruised and bloodied knuckles. When he had allowed the cold to work its magic he removed the ice again and tested the flexibility of his fingers. He winced as the broken skin pulled taut.

“Fuck.” He growled through gritted teeth before replacing the ice on his hand and repeating it when he was too heavy handed.

He hadn’t had a choice. The suspect ran when they had introduced themselves as police and Greg had to run after him. Of course, things had then gone from bad to worse. Greg caught up just in time to pull the man down from a fence but the guy decided to jump backwards and landed on him. Greg dropped his police issue radio as the wind was knocked from his body and it skidded too far away to scramble a reach. The suspect then proceeded to crash his own fist into the side of Greg’s face, probably an attempt to knock him out. It hadn’t worked but the detective couldn't get out from underneath him. He had no choice but to raise his own fists and give it back if he didn’t want to end up in hospital. He got carried away, though, as the images of a poor little dead girl filled his mind.

Now his knuckles were cut to shit and it bloody well stung.

He scowled at the ground.

He was going to get hell from the chief when he was called back to work. There was also the possibility that he’d be disciplined, suspended, fired… or worse.

Greg pinched his nose with the thumb and index finger of his better hand. “The monster deserved it.” He breathed angrily, justifying his own actions to himself.

He jumped, however, when he heard a reply to his mutterings. “That he did.”

Greg’s head shot up and his eyes locked with those of the person stood in front of him. His scowl immediately disappeared. His features softened but he didn’t smile, seeing the man’s expression.

“Mycroft, hey! What are you doing here?”

The politician pursed his lips and leaned forward on his ever present umbrella. His eyes scanned the bruise forming on Greg’s cheek, then the rip in Greg’s shirt that he didn’t seem to have noticed, before eventually settling on his hands.

His gaze softened noticeably. “Oh, Gregory.” It was both a chastisement and a soft exclamation. Mycroft stepped forward, placed his umbrella on the ground and knelt - Mycroft Holmes knelt in a very, very, expensive suit on the ground - in front of Greg where he was sat on the steps leading into a nearby building.

Mycroft took the ice in his own hands and lifted it away to assess the injury. His free hand came to hold the other’s gently. He bent a little closer to press a feather light kiss to skin that wasn’t damaged. “I do wish you would refrain from jumping head first into these kinds of situations alone.” The man whispered as he pulled back to search Greg’s eyes.

Greg scoffed but averted his gaze, staring at their hands together. “I wasn’t on my own. Donovan had my back.” His voice drifted, however. He knew he could never get Mycroft to see this his way. Indeed, Mycroft shook his head and his mouth tightened at the corners.

“Allowing Mr. Saunders to get to you is not having your back, Gregory.”

“It’s my job, Mycroft. What am I supposed to do? Let the guy get away? Not bloody likely."

Mycroft didn’t reply. There was no use when they both got like this. Best to put a stop to the argument now while they still had their heads.

He allowed his mask to slip. His gaze now held a guarded fondness and after replacing the ice on Greg’s hand, he lifted one of his own to brush a thumb over the growing bruise on the DI’s cheek. “That will hurt in the morning.”

“Don’t care.” Came Greg’s reply. A smile was twitching at his lips. He shifted forward and turned his hand to grip Mycroft’s where they were still held together. “You’re holding my hand at a crime scene.” Greg’s voice filled with amusement was quiet. “And that’s quite the suit you’re letting the floor dirty.”

The corners of Mycroft’s eyes showed his smile to be real, as ever they were when it involved his Gregory. Then he cupped Greg’s cheek, tucking his fingers into the silver hair behind his ear and drew him carefully forward. Much to the detective’s growing amusement, against Greg’s lips, he whispered, “Now I’m kissing you at a crime scene.”


End file.
